Letters To Our Favorite Italian
by theoneshotter
Summary: When Romano's angry, Spain asks what will make him feel better. "Why don't you crawl to every nation and beg them to write me an apology letter?" is his answer. Chaos, angst, and a lot of reluctant apologies ensue. PM or review to request a nation. Slight Spamano if you have your yaoi glasses on.
1. An Introduction

**A/N: Hey y'all! Okay, so Teenage Wasteland is slow in coming, and for that I'm sorry. This is to keep my creative juices flowing. Have fun reading! If there's a nation you want a letter from, PM me or *review***

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Romano slammed his door, anger making his blood boil. That stupid potato bastard _was _sleeping with his brother. He had suspected it all along. Seventy years after the war had ended, and the two were still inseparable. Even while the rest of the world had talked shit about Germany behind his back and taxed him until he was no longer a threat, his stupid baby brother had coddled him. Even now, Italy continued to worship that Nazi bastard like he was God himself.

"Romanito! Are you okay?" Great. Now Spain was on his ass.

"I'm fine! I don't want to talk to you, bastard!" Since he and his former boss were alone in the house, there was no one else Romano could vent his anger at. Why was it always like this? Couldn't that damn bastard get it through his thick skull that Romano said a lot of shit that he didn't mean, and sometimes he just needed to be alone?

"You sure? Want some churros?" Spain called up the stairs again. His words made into a soothing rhythm by that Spanish lisp that Romano simultaneously loved and hated.

"GO AWAY BASTARD!" Romano roared. He stood in the middle of the room, face flushed and hands balled into fists. How many times had he stood like this over the last thousand years? So many, it probably couldn't be counted. He seemed to always find himself in Spain's house, even after he was reunited with his brother.

Spain had given him his first rosary, and taught him prayers in Spanish. He had given him his first tomato, and though at first he had pretended to hate them, they soon became his favorite food. That dense bastard had even influenced his language. He spoke Italian, dammit, but that damn Spaniard's words still infiltrated his vocabulary sometimes. _That sneaky bastard pretends to be innocent, but he's as bad as Germany and jerk-Russia combined._

"Sure? I don't think you should be alone when you're all mad. Want to come down so we can talk this out?"

Romano's fingernails were digging into his skin. They were probably going to draw blood soon. Then the over-protective bastard would think he was cutting himself. Who the hell cuts their palms? It fucking burns whenever you touch something. Romano would know, he had faint scars from all the times he had balled his fists like this.

"Roma? Answer me, _por favor_. Unlock your door." Great. The shitface was at the top of the landing, right outside his damn door. _Spaniards have no concept of personal space. _

"Come on, you do this all the time. Why not talk for once? Why do you hurt me like this? I love you!"

Shit. Guilt-talking. That bastard really knew how to pull at his heartstrings.

"ROMANO!" Geez that guy had some lungs. No wonder Romano yelled all the time, he had learned it from _him. _

_ "I'm going to get my axe and break this lock." _Deep breaths, that's all he had to do. _One_, in then out. _Two_, again, deep breaths, just keep breathing. _Three_, no, don't hyperventilate. _Four, _you're loosing it. _Five, _almost to ten, easy, easy. _Six…_**aw fuck it! **

"GO DO THAT, DUMMY BASTARD CRAP! SEE IF I CARE, I'LL JUMP OUT THE WINDOW!" …and he was reduced to calling Spain what he called him when he was just a colony. _Dummy bastard crap, _stupidest insult of all time. Add that to the useless threat of jumping out the window. Sure, he was three stories up. That would kill a human and probably make Spain pause out of fear of Romano hurting himself. There was just the tiny problem of Romano landing on his feet and running away at an inhuman speed, with Spain tailing him holding a big shiny axe from his pirate days. Oh, they joys of being a nation.

His inner musing was interrupted by the screech of metal on metal. He turned to see the sharp silver edge of a certain nation's axe slicing its way down the crack of his door.

"S-spain? What the hell are you doing?" With each word, his voice rose. By the end, it was a half-yelled sob.

"I'm…coming…to get…you." The words were a grunted mess, shaking with effort. Romano's eyes widened, _he was serious. _

"I'm jumping out the window!" Romano screeched. At that moment, the axe smashed through the lock, slamming into the wooden floor. The door banged open, revealing a panting Spain. His eyes were burning with a green flame, and the wetness on his cheeks was a combination of sweat and tears. He jerked his arms upward, hoisting the weapon out of the wood with a horrible crack.

"…you…aren't…going any…where." Spain closed his eyes briefly, lowering his axe a little bit. Once he got his breath back, he continued in Spanish. "_Siéntate_, _ahora_. We are going to talk."

"No!" Romano leapt for the window, but his former boss caught his arm. Damn, he had good reflexes.

"I said sit. Now. Don't pretend you don't understand." Romano pulled against his iron grip, the fingers of one hand reaching uselessly for freedom. He didn't want to talk, dammit! He wanted to get the fuck out! "Listen to me! Please! Come on Romano, it doesn't have to be like this."

"You're the one who got your damn axe out!" Spain smiled sheepishly.

"_Lo siento_, old habit." This guy was seriously bipolar. Romano guessed having a long history did that to you. Look at Russia for instance…no, he didn't really want to think about what had gone on in that guy's past to make him so…insane. "But really Romanito, what's wrong?"

"It's hard to talk with you pointing that _thing _at me, dammit!" Romano cautiously pushed the tip of the axe away from his face.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Truce?" Spain let the axe slip carelessly to the floor, where its clatter made Romano jump. The former pirate held out a hand. His former underling took it reluctantly, giving it a firm shake like Grandpa Rome had always taught him.

"Truce." Spain's smile would have blocked out the sun, if it were shining. The day was a strange one at Spain's place, being cloudy and cold. A small smile of his own tugged at Romano's lips. Spain was here; everything was going to be all right.

A calloused hand traced Romano's cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn't even noticed was there. Now that he wasn't holding an axe, Spain looked a lot less scary. His economy currently sucked, just like the rest of the world's. This resulted in dark circles under his eyes, and a faint tightness to his smile. There was a smudge of dirt on his nose, and more under his fingernails. He had been working in the garden, obviously.

"Cut it out, your hands are freezing." Romano swatted him away. "Were you even wearing a jacket? It's cold as shit out there."

"Aw…how cuuute! You care about me!"

"No I don't, you dumbass. I just know that you're going to whine and moan and generally be a pain in the ass if you get sick. You're going to call _me_ because you have no friends and I'm going to have to come and mother you. That doesn't sound like a fun weekend to me, thanks." Spain's smile dimmed a fraction of a watt.

"I have friends!"

"Prussia's your drinking buddy, that doesn't count. France only likes you because you have a nice ass." Romano blushed as the last bit slipped out. Spain looked at him in surprise.

"Do you think I have a nice ass?" He looked for all the world like a teenager with an inferiority complex. His hopeful green eyes widened, and his head cocked to the side as he waited anxiously for an answer.

"Bastard, you can't fool me. You learned the complement fishing bit from France." The blinding smile was back. Spain wrapped his arms tightly around the Italian, like he was some over-grown puppy.

"You are so smart! Oh don't deny it, you are!" Romano felt his face heating up. He worked his hands up to Spain's lovely, firm, chest, and shoved against him with all his strength.

"Geddoff." He muttered, too exhausted for any more yelling. Spain seemed to realize that, and allowed himself to be pushed away. He sat across from Romano; crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs, chin in hands.

"So, tell me what all this anger is about, _sí?" _Romano chewed his bottom lip, thinking. There were a lot of things to be angry about, really. His brother's taste in men was what had initially set him off, but as he thought about it, he realized it was bigger than that.

"N-nobody l-likes m-m-me." Was his final answer. It was pathetic, really. But then, _he _was pathetic. He was a pathetic, no good, short-fused, poor, untalented half of a country. Spain continued to look at him, trying desperately not to smile. His self-control was infuriating. Romano sighed deeply. "Are you going to say anything?"

"Yes. I was going to say that I like you." Spain had evidently grown tired of keeping a straight face, and his smile was like a lighthouse on a rocky shore. "You're my adorable tomato."

"Why the hell would you call someone a tomato? That's really dumb." Spain sighed lightly, raising his eyebrows.

"I feel like we've had this conversation before." Romano's response died on his lips as he was engulfed in yet another hug. "What can Boss do to make you smile again?"

"Let go of me." Romano struggled in his arms, his face squished against Spain's chest. The smell of incense from Mass that morning still lingered in his hair. Romano's hands slid into the tangled curls, and he yanked as hard as he could. He felt Spain's laugh bubble in his chest at that. Did the man feel no pain?

"What was that, Romanito?"

"I SAID LET GO!" Spain laughed again and complied, letting Romano slide to the floor.

"Okay, okay. But seriously, what will make you happy?"

"Other than you leaving me alone? Because that probably won't happen until I die and go to Heaven." Spain clicked his tongue.

"I'll follow you." His eyes had that funny look in them again, the one that he probably learned from France.

"Okay. Why don't you crawl to every nation and beg them to write me an apology letter. I would say one for every decade, but your tiny little brain probably can't remember all that." Romano glared at Spain, who was still grinning like an idiot.

"_Su deseo es mi orden_." With that, Spain jumped up and ran out the door, only to come back two seconds later to grab his axe. Romano watched him go with rising dread. _What had he gotten himself into? _

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**Translations:**

**"Siéntate. Ahora." - Sit. Now.**

**"Lo siento" - I'm sorry**

**"Su deseo es mi orden" - Your wish is my command**


	2. A Prompt Letter From Deutschland

**A/N: I'm sorry if Germany is OOC! He's just so hard for me to write...**

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Dear Southern Italy,

Spain has threatened me to write this, so don't think I'm doing it out of kindness. Also, your brother would have my head if I refused. Keep that in mind.

I know there's been a lot of hate between us. While your brother realized my full potential in the late thirties, you did not. I think this got us off to a bad start. Through the entire war, you made my domination of Italy very difficult. You could have made it easier by submitting. You and your Resistance could have been very useful as fighters. Okay, not really. You and Veneziano share the same lack of fighting instinct.

I realize that paragraph was quite rude…so let me start over. Your farmland would have been a great asset to the war effort. I'm sorry I burned a lot of it. I'm also sorry my food is so unappealing to you. Italy wants us all to have dinner. I don't think it's a very good idea, but it could work, maybe.

Best,  
Ludwig Beilschmidt, Deutschland


	3. the awesome letter

**A/N: As requested, PRUSSIA! Man, I love this guy. One of my headcanons for him is that he always writes in text-form, unless it's something really important. Bad habit picked up from constantly being in chatrooms online. He also capitalizes his name and anything pertaining to it. He is a terrible speller, mostly because he doesn't care. :P**

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hey romano

the Awesome Me is abt to make the most Awesome apolgy evr, so listen up! the Awesome Prussia is sorry that he pised you of. rlly. im srry. evry time i went to spains house and u were thr, u pised me of. not My falt. 4 the record, it waz france who was beeing a perv most of the time. it waz only Me sometimes. und tht time with the potatoes…that waz luddys idea. hes srry he gave u a black eye. bruder mite hav mentioned this, but your bro stil wants to hav diner. not sure why im writin this. but dude, your boyfriends axe is scary as shit.

stay pissy,

GILBERT AWESOME BEILSCHMIDT, KÖNIGREICH PREUSSEN


	4. THE HEROIC LETTER

**A/N: It's embarrassing how easy this was to write. I even did a little research! **

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Yo, dude!

So Spain told me to write this…yeah. I dunno what I have to apologize for, honestly. But, being a HERO, I must. All heroes apologize, even if they don't need too. Am I right, my dog?

I'm sorry about occupying you after the war. We weren't really at war with YOU, but kinda with the Italian Socialist Republic*. Germany controlled that, didn't he? I think Italy is a chill place, you've got great pizza. Of course, we perfected it. Dude, sometimes you forget the cheese. And you put all that green stuff on it. Veggies, ewwww. Not cool, man.

Anyway, about the occupation and reforming of your government…well that's what I do best, right? Helping all the other countries fix their government. DEMOCRACY! Well, you're a republic, but we tried.

The Years of Lead were freakin' scary dude. The Christian Democracy** kinda died, and the commies took over. What were you thinking? Commies can't do anything right! But we helped you out again, with the Strategy of Tension***.

So yup. I'm sorry about bombing you and stuff, but I like bombs. They explode with shininess and cool colors! We had to get the Nazis out. Sorry!

Sincerely,

ALFRED F. JONES, THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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* The part of Italy that was basically Germany's puppet

** Political party in Italy

*** A theory of occult and foreign forces possibly including Gladio, a secret anti-communist structure; the P2 Masonic Lodge; fascist "black terrorism" organizations such as Ordine Nuovo or Avanguardia Nazionale; the Italian secret service; and the United States


	5. The Sexual Chapter

**A/N: Dear God, this was too fun to write. I love France, I truly do.**

**There were a lot of Romano headcanons in here, like he is more Arabic looking. **

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_Bonjour, mon chér, _

I must apologize for my natural beauty. We just complement each other so well, _non_? You, with your flaming temper and me with my romantic tendencies…how can I resist?

The answer is that I cannot. You are so shiny…I want you to have my children. Let us make love like Bella and Edward. You are even Italian…mmmhmm…_Bello_.

I must also apologize for professing my love for you and…feeling you. You have the most wonderful _derrière, mon chér_. Your lips are also divine. Don't get me started on your beautiful cheekbones; is that Arabic influence I see?

You have much influence on your _amoureaux. _He is usually so sweet and ignorant, but you bring out a different side of him. Is he like that in bed? Honhonhon, wait, I would know, wouldn't I? Do tell me; is he more pirate or Conquistador in your bed? In mine, he is a pirate.

Love,

Francis Bonnefoy, _la République Française _

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**MORE A/N: Also, I don't ship FrancexSpain, but they've been friends for years, and knowing their personalities, (F-molests anything that moves and S- a bit too easygoing), I bet they've had at least three one-night-stands together.**


	6. I'm Sorry

Okay, I realise you are all going to hate me for this, but it's something I have to do. I'm quitting writing until I get my grades back up. My mother is very angry with me, and I'm not too happy with myself, either. Fanfiction is just becoming too distracting. Once my grades are where I want them to be and I have better time-management skills, I will continue. I'm really sorry, but this has to be done. I love you all, and thank you for being here for me.

-Zoe


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